


One Good Look

by Jaiden_S



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, M/M, Stucky - Freeform, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 15:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18076403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaiden_S/pseuds/Jaiden_S
Summary: Bucky has mostly recovered from his days with Hydra, but his clearest memories are of Steve Rogers, the man who called him friend. Steve’s safety is Bucky’s priority, but how can Bucky know if Steve is safe if he can’t be near him? All he needs is one good look and then he’ll walk away. Really.





	One Good Look

**Author's Note:**

> For the Bottom Bucky Fic 2019 #BBF2019 (Will add to collection later, as it's not showing up there)
> 
> Claim #64  
> By Anon  
> Pairing: Steve/Bucky  
> Rating: Any  
> Prompt: Bucky is still on the run, but has mostly recovered his memories. He is done fighting and is too tired to go run after Hydra, and he is not yet ready to go to Steve. But he needs something to do, wants to be close to Steve just in case something bad happens, and to also get more intel on Avengers before he decides whether to make contact or not. Mission: Infiltrate Avengers' Tower is on. Cue Bucky sneaking in and working various jobs (eg. janitor, delivery man, nurse, kitchen staff) in Tower/around it (eg. coffee shop, construction, etc) and spying on Avengers (while enjoying the normalcity of the jobs, and some nice human interactions). Probs some fancy disguise technology is needed to pass JARVIS etc - or your pick, perhaps JARVIS and Avengers know what's going on from the start and are basically humoring Bucky.

Bucky was tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of the wreck his life had become since he escaped Hydra. Squatting in burned-out buildings, scavenging food, wandering the streets at night and sleeping during the day wore him down to a bone-weary shell. The only bright spot in his dim existence was Steve Rogers. The man on the bridge. The man on the helicarrier. The man with the shield that he couldn’t forget even when Hydra wiped his mind clean.

At first, Steve drifted through the fog of Bucky’s mind as a vague impression of someone he once knew, but as time passed and his memories became clearer, Steve became an anchor to which Bucky could chain himself during his worst days. Nights when Bucky couldn’t tell which memories were real and which ones were remnants of Hydra nightmares, he clung hard to the skinny kid with the cough and the tall man with the kind eyes who’d called him a friend. They were his, truly his, after everything else fell away. 

A friend. The Asset hadn’t needed or wanted friends, but Bucky did, and he’d tried to kill his only one. Despite that, Steve still searched desperately for him, following any active lead to the frazzled end. Guilt and fear kept Bucky two steps ahead of Steve, but he couldn’t get Steve out of his head. 

Steve became Bucky’s lone obsession. He tracked Steve’s movements and studied him from a distance, smiling to himself when Steve raked his hand through his spikey hair, making it stand on end like he’d done as a punk kid. And the way Steve stopped to chat with children or stooped down to scratch friendly dogs behind the ears pulled warm memories from Bucky’s clouded brain. He replayed each one a thousand times. It was sublime torture.

Bucky devoured every story about Steve and his fellow Avengers that he could find. Even though he wanted to punch something every time he read about Steve rushing headlong into the thick of a fight, he couldn’t help himself. When Steve was at home, Bucky would walk circles around his block to make sure nothing was hiding in the shadows or lurking in the bushes beneath his windows, waiting to attack. He didn’t deserve to have Steve, but he could protect him.

When Steve moved from Washington, D.C. to New York City, Bucky moved, too. He collected his meager belongings, scraped together some cash and a few fake IDs he’d stashed around, and rented a room in a run-down tenant building not far from Tony Stark’s gaudy monument to himself, Avengers’ Tower. It didn’t seem like Steve’s style to live in a place so ostentatious, so high above the city and out-of-touch with everyday people. Maybe, though, that was the point. Captain America was a hero. Maybe Steve needed a break from autographs and selfies and being mobbed at the grocery store. Unfortunately for Bucky, Steve’s flat in the Towers meant that Steve was out-of-reach for him, too.

For the first few days in NYC, Bucky lurked stealthily around the outside of the Towers, trying to learn Steve’s day-to-day routine: when he went for a run, when he ducked out for coffee, when he took the motorcycle out for a ride. Steve never quite settled into a predictable schedule, though, leaving Bucky frustrated. How could he keep an eye on Steve if he never knew where he might be? He needed a different angle, one that would give him better access to Steve. Shading his eyes with his hand, he scanned the skyscrapers near the Tower. Sure, he could hunker down atop the tallest one, but that felt too remote. He had to be near Steve to make sure he was safe.

He shifted his attention to the people who had access to the Tower. Food deliveries were left with the security guard, so that wouldn’t do. He needed a job that would get him inside the building itself, but one that wouldn’t require a stringent background check or fingerprinting.

While on his daily trek to and from the Tower, he noticed a job agency a few blocks over, located conveniently next to the Veterans’ Administration building where Steve’s friend worked. Sam, maybe? Bucky might be fuzzy on the guy’s name, but he clearly remembered kicking the guy’s ass. He left his stalking spot early one afternoon to pay the place a visit.

As he got closer, he noticed that the agency was actually attached to the VA building. The sign out front advertised a need for day laborers and expressly stated that anyone with a valid ID was welcome to apply. Bucky’s ID _looked_ valid, but he doubted it would stand up to intense scrutiny. There was only one way to find out, though, and he decided to chance it.

Tucking his hair up under his cap, he pushed open the door and stepped into a small waiting area. An eager looking young man with a plaid bowtie greeted him and pushed a clipboard in his direction. “If you’ll fill this out and bring it back to me, one of our job counselors will see you in a few minutes.”

Bucky found a seat in a nearby chair and clicked the ballpoint pen a few times as he considered his answers. Basic personal information he copied from his fake ID. Job history, he made up on the spot. Special skills? Now, those he didn’t have to lie about. He’d done a little bit of everything before the war. Everyone in the old neighborhood knew he was a general handyman, equally good with a hammer and a plunger. He checked every box on the Special Skills list, including electrician, because how different could circuits be now than they were back then?

After he’d turned in his form and Mr. Bow Tie copied his fake Rhode Island driver’s license, he hardly had time to sit before yet another eager young man called him back for a “short employment interview.” Bucky followed him through a maze of cubicles to one near the back and took a seat in front of a desk cluttered with file folders and post-it notes. The name plate on the desk said Brad and had a built-in pencil holder. Bucky plucked a yellow #2 from the bunch and tapped it against his leg.

“You have quite the job history, Mr. Grant.”

“My dad is Mr. Grant. Call me Mike,” said Bucky, pouring on the charm. He smiled, toothy and winning, hoping that his eagerness would make up for any gaps on his application.

Brad smiled back. “Alright, Mike. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Something close by here. I’m staying in temporary housing until I can get back on my feet, and I don’t have access to transportation, so I’d like to be able to walk to the job site.”

Brad tapped a bit on his computer and stared at the screen, his brow furrowed. “Mike, I’m not seeing anything close by that fits your qualifications, but we have new jobs posted every day.” He glanced down at Bucky’s form and asked, “Is that a cell phone number that you listed? I can call you if we get something that I think you’d want.”

Bucky nodded and patted his jacket pocket where his burner phone rested. “Yeah. I have it on most of the time.”

“Perfect. I’ll be in touch, and feel free to drop by and check out job postings, too.”

Brad stood so Bucky took that as a hint that the interview was over. “Sure, okay. Thanks.”

He shoved both hands in his pockets and weaved his way back through the cubicle maze to the exit. It hadn’t been a complete waste of time, but he’d hoped the agency could have placed him right away. As he stepped outside, the afternoon sun temporarily blinded him, and he accidentally bumped shoulders with a man who was heading inside. “Sorry,” he mumbled and kept walking, pulling his cap down lower.

“No problem,” replied Sam Wilson, turning to stare after him. _Was that the Winter Soldier? Bucky?? Steve’s Bucky??? After all the searching, the guy turns up here and literally bumps right into me._

Sam darted inside the agency and walked up to the man with the bow tie at the front desk. “That guy, the one in the navy baseball cap who just left, what was his name?”

“Ummm…here,” he said, pointing at the sign-in sheet. “Michael Grant. Brad just uploaded his paperwork.” He tapped a few buttons and pulled it up, along with a scan of his driver’s license. Bucky’s unsmiling face flickered onto the screen. “Why? Is there a problem?”

“Nope, not at all,” Sam grinned. “He’s a friend of a friend, and I think I may have something for him.”

~*~

Two days later, Bucky stood in the foyer of the Tower wearing a red jacket that said _InteriorScapes: Custom Planter Solutions_ in large script letters across the back. Apparently, the automatic irrigation system that Stark had installed in the Towers had sprung a leak. Water seeped out of the large planters near the south entrance and puddled onto the marble tiled floor. “Water leads to accidents; accidents lead to lawsuits,” Bucky’s new manager had said in a quiet voice. “We can’t afford any lawsuits, not from Stark. He’d eat us for lunch and pick his teeth with our bones. Get over there and fix it.”

He quickly spotted the row of planters in question, and knelt in front of it, digging around in the potting soil with gloved hands until he found the tiny irrigation line that ran along the bottom. Oddly enough, it had come apart right at the joint, as if someone had reached down with a wrench and neatly unfastened the thing. Bucky shrugged off his initial impression, because who would unscrew an irrigation line in Avengers’ Tower? Not everything was sabotage. He’d been an asset for too long.

Just as he climbed to his feet, he heard the thump of boots behind him. Heavy combat boots, and the click of dog nails on tile. He wheeled around perhaps a shade too quickly, but the guy didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey,” said the blond, scruffy guy, who looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. He held an extra-large pizza in one hand and a dog leash in the other. “Who are you?”

“I’m Mike from InteriorScapes,” Bucky said, pointing to his name badge.

“Huh. Mike. Okay. I’m Clint. This here is Lucky,” the guy replied with a nod to his dog. Lucky’s long, yellow tail wagged in greeting. “You like pizza?”

“Umm. I guess.” Bucky squinted at Clint, wondering where the hell this conversation was heading.

“Cool. So do Lucky and I. Let’s eat.” Clint headed to a small table near the planter and dropped the pizza box on top of it.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to stop working to eat pizza,” Bucky said with a dubious tone. “I only get an hour for lunch… and it’s 9am.”

“Call it brunch,” Clint said as he plopped down in a chair. “Besides, who’s gonna know?” He tore off a slice and held it out for Lucky, who devoured it in two bites. “He ain’t telling anyone.”

“Alright.” Bucky pulled out the opposite chair, which scraped loudly on the tile floor and probably left a mark. He was afraid to look. There were no plates, so Bucky removed the glove from his right hand and pulled a slice right from the box. “D’ya feed random people on the regular?” 

“Nope,” Clint said around a mouthful of pepperoni. “You got lucky.”

Lucky, hearing his name, woofed expectantly. Clint tossed him a piece of sausage which he caught in mid-air.

“You live here?” Bucky eyed Clint over the top of his slice. He sported a bandage on his forehead, another one on his chin and a black eye that had nearly faded away. He looked more like a walking disaster than an Avenger.

“Seventeenth floor, as high up as Stark would let me go. I like having a good view of everything. Old habits and all.”

Ah. He must be Clint Barton. Hawkeye. He’d read about him. 

“What’s it like, being an Avenger?”

“Pretty fun,” Clint admitted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Free concert tickets, VIP section at sporting events, lots of swag and gifts and clothes and stuff. Of course, you gotta go out and fight whatever alien-of-the-month happens to descend from the sky or any mutants that crawl out of the sewers under Madison Square Gardens. Worth it, though. Totally. Even getting sprayed with giant spider guts. I hit one of them with a tipped arrow and BWOOSH, spider guts everywhere.” Clint made an exploding gesture with his free hand. 

Bucky remembered the giant spiders. Stories about them had been all over the internet and in the local newspapers. Something with Doctor Strange and an accidental portal to an ancient evil opening under 7th Avenue. He’d ignored the details of the articles and focused on the photos of Steve smiling like an idiot, holding a severed spider leg like it was some kind of trophy. Reckless punk.

“I guess the other Avengers are pretty swell,” Bucky said, trying not to appear like he was fishing for information, which he so, so was.

“Yeah, swell,” Clint said, amused. “I mean, we all have our bad days, but yeah. We’re pretty swell.” Clint tore off another slice, folded it and took a big bite. 

Bucky cringed inwardly at his archaic word choice, but it had slid out before he could stop himself. His follow-up wasn’t any better. “What I mean is it must be neat to get to hang out with Iron Man and Captain America.” This time the cringe was outward.

Clint stopped chewing. “Neat? Are you eighty? Where the hell do you come up with these words, dude?” He swallowed what was left of his mouthful and grinned. “Sounds like something Cap would say, among other things.”

Heated discomfort crawled up Bucky’s neck and he tugged at his collar to hide it. “It’s just how I talk. I’m from Rhode Island.” What kind of excuse was _that?_

Clint lifted a single eyebrow. “Uh huh.” His eyes lit up with inspiration. “Oh, hey! I should introduce you to Cap. I think he’s here right now. He’d think you’re really neat.”

Bucky stood so fast that his chair flew backwards and hit the tile floor with a loud bang, which definitely left a mark. “I gotta go. Now. Right now.”

“Mike! Wait! You don’t wanna meet Cap, the super-swell, really neat Avenger?”

By the time Clint had put down the slice of pizza in his hand and stood up, Bucky was already at the door. “Maybe next time,” he said over his shoulder as he fled the building.

The instant his feet hit the sidewalk, he broke into a jog and didn’t stop until he was several blocks away from the Tower. He ducked into an alley and waited for his pulse to slow from a gallop to a mere trot. That was close, too close. He couldn’t go back, but he couldn’t _not_ go back because…Steve. 

~*~

Clint picked at the sausage on top of a half-eaten slice with one hand while the other tapped out a text to Natasha.

_Good news. He didn’t try to murder me._

_He’s gone already?_

_Like a fart in the wind. Ran when I mentioned meeting Cap._

_Why did you do that???? You’re terrible at intrigue._

_I’m a soldier, not a spy._

_Obviously. On to plan B._

Clint had no clue what or who plan B was, but he didn’t care. He had pizza.

~*~

InteriorScapes sent Bucky to tend indoor planters elsewhere in the city for the next couple of days, which did nothing to take his mind off the close call at the Tower. At least Clint hadn’t recognized him. That would have led to an uncomfortable situation and an awkward conversation, neither of which he felt ready to face at the moment. Despite everything that could go wrong and blow up in his face, he couldn’t let it go, couldn’t relinquish the idea of seeing Steve. If he saw him with his own two eyes – even from a distance – and made sure he was doing well, he could relax. Or at least, that is what he kept telling himself. Every day, before and after and occasionally during work, he’d casually stroll past the Tower, his eyes scanning for a glimpse of a blond crew cut and a pair of broad shoulders. And every day, he strolled back home, disappointed.

Home, though, wasn’t so bad. His first paycheck had been enough for a larger, permanent room in a building nearby with nice neighbors and good wifi. The guy in the corner unit, Roscoe, was a retired Army Corporal with no family. At night, they’d sit out on the landing and talk about how this year was the Dodger’s year, and how much that new pitcher had cost the ball club and whether or not the second string catcher was really better than the first string. For the first time in years, he felt like a regular person.

The following week, Bucky found Avengers’ Tower back on his call list, though this time it was to add some flowering annuals to the planter near the front windows. The designer had selected an assortment of geraniums in pink and red and white, a nice pop of color, she’d said. Bucky shrugged and hauled them to the Tower, hoping that today might be the day he’d get a glimpse of Steve.

He hadn’t been there five minutes before he heard the elevator doors slide open behind him. His heart soared. Could it be Steve? 

The totter of high heels on the tile sent his heart tumbling back down again. Steve didn’t wear heels.

“Young man? Could you help me?”

Bucky climbed to his feet and turned around to see an attractive elderly lady in a pink cardigan smiling up at him. “I can try.”

“Wonderful,” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together at her chest. “I’ve dropped one of my rings down the sink in my granddaughter’s flat and I need someone to retrieve it for me.”

“Ma’am, I’m a gardener, not a plumber,” Bucky began, but she’d already reached for his gloved hand and was pulling him toward the elevator.

“But you look like you can use a wrench,” she said as she ushered him inside and punched the button for the top floor. “I must get the ring out of the drain before they return. She’ll be upset and I’m embarrassed that I was so clumsy and I don’t want her to know.”

“They?” Slowly, it dawned on Bucky that the top floor meant the penthouse. Stark’s penthouse. His stomach did a slow roll.

“Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. I’m Mrs. Potts, Pepper’s grandmother.” She smiled sweetly and held out her hand.

Bucky stared at it for a long, strange moment before he gave it a tentative shake. “Mike,” he said, jabbing at his name badge with his free hand. “I’m Mike.”

“Thank goodness you’re here, Mike. I didn’t know what I was going to do!”

The elevator pinged and the doors silently opened, revealing an enormous flat with an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows and elegantly appointed furnishings in shades of black, gray and white. 

“Wow,” Bucky managed to get out. His eyes widened as he took it all in. 

“It’s lovely. Pepper did a wonderful job decorating,” Mrs. Potts replied, locking a hand on his elbow and steering him toward the guest bathroom. “I’ll give you the grand tour in a bit, but first things first. Let’s fetch my ring.”

To her credit, Mrs. Potts had already moved everything from underneath the sink and had placed an expensive toolbox on the floor next to the vanity. Almost as if she knew he would be downstairs. But she couldn’t possibly have known that. He pushed the thought aside and knelt down to turn off the water and begin work.

The emerald ring lay right in the bend of pipe and fell out onto the underside of the cabinet when Bucky removed that section. 

“Oh, fabulous,” Mrs Potts said, clapping her hands. “I can’t thank you enough!”

As she slid the ring back onto her hand, voices came from the other side of the flat. The high trill of a woman’s giggle and the deep rumble of a man’s chuckle.

“You didn’t really call him that, did you, Steve?”

Bucky stilled, hand on the wrench, and listened for the sound of a voice he knew as well as his own.

“I couldn’t help it,” Steve said, “it just came out. And he is kind of an asshole.”

Bucky could hear the warmth in Steve’s tone. He was happy, probably wearing that smile that could go from innocent to devious in the twinkle of a blue eye.

“They’re back,” whispered Mrs. Potts. “Here, I’ll help you get this mess cleaned up and then we’ll slip you into the elevator.”

Furiously, they hustled everything back inside the cabinet, including the toolbox, and wiped up the little bit of water that had leaked out onto the tile. Once they had finished, Mrs. Potts held a finger up to her lips. “Give me a minute to get them into the kitchen and I’ll sneak you out.” She cleared her throat, stepped out into the hallway and called, “Pepper! Steven! You’re back just in time for tea. I’ll put on a kettle and open a tin of cookies.”

Bucky paced back and forth in the bathroom for as long as he could stand it, before he gave up and crept down the hallway to peek into the kitchen. Mrs. Potts and a tall redhead who must be Pepper bustled about fetching teacups from the cupboards and plates for the cookies. And there was Steve leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, smiling. He looked good, healthy, happy. Exactly how Bucky had hoped he would look. Bucky crept closer, ducking down behind the sofa and peering around the edge of it at Steve’s handsome profile. So, of course, Steve chose that exact moment to turn his head and look right into the living room, because that was how Bucky’s life was going lately. He quickly ducked back down, but not before Steve noticed a movement.

“Is there someone else here?” asked Steve, pushing back off the counter and squinting into the living room. “I could have sworn I saw someone by the sofa.”

“Don’t be silly,” Pepper said as she poured a cup of tea. “JARVIS would alert us to any intruders.”

“Actually, there is someone here,” Mrs. Potts said sheepishly. “A nice young man working downstairs who helped me retrieve a ring I dropped down the sink.”

“Grandma! You let a complete stranger in here?” Pepper placed both hands on her hips. 

“I didn’t want to be a bother, so I asked if he could help me, and he did a fabulous job,” Mrs. Potts quickly replied. “He’s such a pleasure. Let me introduce you to him. Mike?”

Steve’s brow creased and he dashed to the living room, but all he saw was a glimpse of a red jacket as the elevator closed. He stood where he was, eyes glued to the steel doors, and exhaled slowly.

“Are you going to chase after him?” Pepper came up behind Steve and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“No. He’s not ready yet,” Steve said quietly. “If he’d wanted to talk to me, he would have stayed.”

“Maybe he just needs a little encouragement.” 

Mrs. Potts poked her head around the corner. “How did I do?”

“Oscar worthy performance, Grandma,” chuckled Pepper.

“Is he a friend of yours, Steven?” Mrs. Potts asked as she placed some cookies on a little plate. 

“Yes, he’s my friend,” Steve said, with a faraway look in his eyes. “He’s my oldest and best friend and the thought of him being so close and not even seeing him...” He swiped the back of his hand over his brimming eyes. “And now he’s gone again.”

Pepper gave Steve’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I have an idea.”

~*~

Bucky repeatedly jabbed at the button marked L, praying to every major and minor deity he could remember that the elevator wouldn’t stop on the way down to the lobby. The instant the doors opened, he dashed out, racing past the half-empty planters and trays of geraniums that still needed potting. Undiluted panic pushed him to the crowded sidewalk in a full-on run. He artfully dodged slower pedestrians that ambled along, weaving in and out of the masses until he reached Central Park. The wide-open space calmed him enough to slow to a jog, and finally to a breathless stop near an empty bench. He bent over, rested his hands on his knees and sucked in gulping breaths until his heart slowed. 

“What the fuck was I thinking?” 

It was stupid, the thought that he could spy on Steve inside Avengers’ Tower and not get caught. The entire idea reeked of stupidity, yet he’d been irrationally determined that it could work. He should have known better than to let his heart rule his head. It was stupid and he needed to let it go. The only spark of good, and it was a tiny one, was that nobody had recognized Mike was actually Bucky Barnes. For all the Avengers knew, he was just a weird guy who was good with a plunger and bad with current slang. Yeah, the whole idea had been Stupid with a capital S. The worst idea ever. Yet even as his head repeated the _stupid stupid stupid_ refrain, his heart seized on the miniscule glimmer of hope that he could still get one good look at Steve. Well, a _second_ good look at Steve, because the first one had been a partial glimpse from behind the sofa and didn’t really count.

He shuffled over to the empty bench and dropped down onto it, slumping against the back of it and closing his eyes. By now, someone had undoubtedly noticed the geraniums abandoned in the lobby and had called InteriorScapes. Mike was probably out of a job, which meant he was out of an alias. _Damn._

What now? He began mentally flipping through the possibilities. Finding another job that gave him access to Avengers’ Tower seemed unlikely, especially since several of them knew him as Mike. He couldn’t exactly show back up as Ryan from Newark.

As he blinked up at the sun, something cool and wet brushed against his hand and he nearly jumped out of his skin. A happy yellow dog nosed at his hand, his tail swishing back and forth delightedly.

“Hey, fella,” Bucky said, sitting up to scratch the dog behind his soft, floppy ears. “You look like you’re lost. Where’s your owner?”

As if on cue, a voice called out, “Lucky? Lucky!”

Bucky froze, his hand curled around the back of the dog’s neck, mid-scratch. “Lucky? Are you Clint’s dog, Lucky?”

Lucky woofed and nudged Bucky’s knee, eager for more scratches.

“Shit.” Bucky felt torn between wanting to dart off before Clint saw him and wanting to keep hold of Lucky long enough for Clint to find him. As luck would have it, he didn’t have time to decide.

“Lucky!” 

The voice was close enough this time for Bucky to recognize it, because Lucky wasn’t that far away from _Bucky_ and he’d heard that voice call his name a thousand times. His heart thumped hard in his chest.

Steve. It was Steve! Shit, it was Steve! Wildly different emotions clawed at Bucky, each one scrabbling for a foothold inside of him: joy, fear, guilt, euphoria. The instinct to run warred with the aching desire to see Steve.

He leapt to his feet just as Steve skidded around the curve of the sidewalk to a grinding stop only a few yards away.

“Bucky?” Steve’s eyes widened at the sight of him.

Bucky knew he was lost the moment Steve said his name, and he raised an internal white flag of surrender. A shrug was all he could manage.

“Oh, God, it _is_ you.” Steve jogged over to stand right in front of him, his blue eyes shining. “Please don’t run, not after Lucky tracked you all the way here. Please. I just want to talk.” 

Run? With his star-spangled obsession standing inches away? Not a chance.

“I’m not gonna run.” Bucky dropped his eyes to the ground and toed at a crack in the sidewalk with his boot. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “about everything. I wanted to make sure you were okay. Keep an eye on you. Which sounds very stalkerish and you must think I’m creepy as fuck.”

“I think you’re the best thing I’ve seen in a long, long time.”

Bucky raised his eyes to Steve’s broad smile and felt his heart thump again. “You do?”

“Yeah, Buck. Do you know how long I searched for you in DC? And when you turned up here in NYC, I felt like I’d hit the jackpot.”

“So, you knew I was here.” Hot embarrassment begin a slow crawl up his neck. 

“Sam recognized you outside of the placement agency and got you set up in the job. I’ve been waiting forever for the right time to say something to you. I think now is a pretty good time, don’t you?”

Bucky blinked. “Everyone knew the whole time that I was Mike.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah. I mean, the cap’s not much of a disguise.”

Huffing out an unexpected laugh, Bucky agreed with a shake of his head. “No, it’s really not.”

“Can we go somewhere and talk? It doesn’t have to be for long, and you can leave whenever you want, but please come with me. Maybe back to the Tower?” Steve’s voice was soft and pleading and Bucky’s resolve melted like ice on a warm afternoon.

“Okay.” 

Steve beamed like a little ray of sunshine and Bucky knew he was utterly and completely lost. 

He watched mutely as Steve knelt down to fasten a leash to Lucky’s collar. Sunlight tinted Steve’s blond hair to burnished gold, the same shade it had been when they were kids in Brooklyn. Bucky remembered a scrawny, gangly kid, all knees and elbows, who would play chase until he collapsed to his knees, struggling to breathe. Without even thinking, Bucky placed his hand between Steve’s shoulders, right along his spine. 

“You used to rub my back when I’d overdo it on the playground and couldn’t catch my breath,” Steve said quietly, not moving a muscle. 

“I remember.” The sounds of Central Park faded as Bucky traced circles on Steve’s upper back with the palm of his hand. Back in the day, Steve had been nothing but spiny bones and ragged gasps. Now, muscles rippled gently under Bucky’s palm with each slow rise and fall of Steve’s chest. 

After a moment, Steve climbed to his feet and reached for Bucky’s hand, which he held tenderly in his own. “I’ve missed you so much, Buck,” he said with a watery smile.

Looking into Steve’s brimming eyes caused Bucky’s own emotions to bubble to the surface. “You were the first clear memory I had, the only memory I had for a long time. The man on the bridge. Even after they wiped me, I saw you. I always saw you.”

Lucky, who’d had enough of being ignored, whined and tugged at the leash in Steve’s hand, momentarily knocking him off balance. He caught himself, but not before ending up nose-to-nose with Bucky. Steve’s sudden blush against his fair skin was a work of art.

Perhaps Bucky should have recognized it sooner. Maybe it had always been there, he couldn’t remember, but a powerful surge of longing welled up from deep inside of him and he wanted Steve. _Wanted_ Steve like he’d never craved anything else.

“Let’s go back to the Tower,” he said, squeezing Steve’s hand that he still clasped. “Those geraniums won’t plant themselves.”

Steve barked out a hearty laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been fired by now.”

“Yeah, probably,” Bucky admitted as they walked along. “I did walk off the jobsite without permission.”

“Did you like it? The job, I mean, not the stalking because it’s clear you liked that.” Steve’s eyes danced with amusement.

“Actually, I did like it. Minimum wage and all, but it gave me a reason to get up every morning. Paid for a decent room and three squares. The stalking part didn’t work out so well.”

Steve glanced over at Bucky, then lifted their clasped hands for emphasis. “It’s say it worked out pretty damned well.”

Bucky’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re still swearing like a sailor.”

“Yep. I scandalized the rest of the gang the first time I dropped an f-bomb in the middle of dinner, but what did they expect? I was in the Army during WWII. Swearing was a second language.”

“Captain America, ladies and gentlemen,” quipped Bucky. “Saving the planet and dropping f-bombs.”

~*~

They talked for hours on the sofa in Steve’s apartment, reminiscing mostly, but also catching up on each other’s lives. A lot of time had passed since 1943, so that had miles of ground to cover. Bucky had no idea how long he’d been there until Steve’s stomach growled like a bear emerging from hibernation.

“Dear Lord, was that you or has someone unleashed a hellhound?”

Steve grinned sheepishly. “High metabolism. I eat a lot.” He shifted on the sofa, untucking the leg that he’d been sitting on. “Are you hungry? I can heat up some leftover Thai food I have in the fridge.”

“Is it dinnertime already?” Bucky pulled out his phone and gaped. “Holy shit, it’s almost midnight. I should probably get back.”

“Stay.” Steve dropped his enormous hand onto Bucky’s knee. “We’ll eat dinner and you can sleep over – I have a king-sized bed - and then we can have breakfast and maybe lunch after we get your things from your rental.” Steve looked completely serious for a moment, then broke into a toothy grin. “I was just k-“

“Okay,” Bucky blurted out before Steve finished.

“Wait, what?” Steve’s eyes were round as saucers.

“Unless you didn’t mean it…” Bucky fidgeted with the hem on his jacket.

“I meant every word of it, but I didn’t think you’d say yes.” The look in Steve’s eyes was somewhere between incredulous and hopeful.

Bucky swallowed and met Steve’s questioning gaze with a steady one of his own. “I’m saying yes.”

Steve’s hand slid up on Bucky’s thigh ever so slightly. “You’re saying yes to what, exactly?”

“To everything. To anything. To you.”

“Bucky…” The way Steve said it sounded like a prayer, and he cupped the back of Bucky’s head and pulled him in for a kiss. Soft and tender and warm, one that Bucky felt all the way to his toes.

Bucky’s hands gripped the front of Steve’s shirt and held him close as his lips parted and the kiss deepened. Plush lips and warm mouths and kisses made of molten lava and liquid silk. Kisses that melted him from the inside out. Kisses that gave and took and lingered even when Steve pulled away.

Steve leaned his forehead against Bucky’s and watched him with those clear blue eyes of his. “I want you,” he confessed. “I’ve wanted you since we were kids, but you were tall and handsome and perfect and so far out of my league. If you knew the things I dreamed of doing to you, with you…”

“Show me.” Bucky snaked his hands round Steve’s neck to rest on his shoulders.

“Are you sure?”

Bucky sighed with feigned exasperation. “Steve, I’ve stalked you for months. I’m pretty fucking sure I want you, too.”

“Language,” teased Steve.

“Pot, meet kettle.”

“C’mon, kettle.” Steve dropped one last kiss to Bucky’s lips and disentangled himself to stand up. “I’ll show you my king-size.”

As Bucky followed Steve to the bedroom, his pulse began to race. He hadn’t had so much as a fleeting though of sex in seventy years, and now he yearned for it, ached for Steve to touch him. He lingered in the doorway as Steve plopped down on the edge of the bed.

“Wow, it is big. The bed I mean.”

Steve leaned back on his hands and tilted his head at Bucky. “That’s not the only thing.” His smile faded just a bit and he added, “if you’ve changed your mind, we don’t have to-”

But Bucky launched himself at Steve and hit him with a flying tackle, knocking him onto his back before he could finish. He straddled Steve’s hips, put one hand on Steve’s chest and said, “I want you. All of you. All over me. On me. Around me. Above me. Inside me. Do I need to be more explicit?”

Steve blinked up at him with lust-darkened eyes. “No.”

The kiss Bucky dropped onto Steve’s lips was soft at first, lush and tender, but it quickly turned breathless and demanding. Tongues swirled together, teeth nipped and grazed over swollen lips. Hands tugged at shirts and jeans. Clothes landed haphazardly all over the room until nothing was left between them. 

Steve tumbled them over and landed on top, dipping his head to lave wet kisses to Bucky’s stubbled jaw and throat. Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed as little groans fell from his lips as Steve shifted to wriggle between his splayed legs. The slightest hint of friction against his already hard cock sent sparks of delight up his spine.

“Fuck me,” breathed Bucky, arching up and grinding his crotch against Steve’s abdomen.

Steve didn’t have to be told twice, and blindly groped in the bedside table for some condoms and lube.

Bucky raised up on his elbows and watched. “Look at you with a condom stash. How many people have seen your king-size?”

“Just you. I may have been a little optimistic about where you and I would end up,” Steve admitted with a cheeky grin as he unrolled the condom. “But it all worked out.”

Before Bucky could come up with an appropriately snarky reply, Steve was on top of him again, kissing at his neck and sliding his fingers in and out of him until Bucky couldn’t form a complete thought. By the time Steve pushed inside Bucky, they were both feverish with need. It was urgent and intense, fueled by a desire long denied. Bucky wrapped his hands around Steve’s broad shoulders and clung to him, riding each dip and swell of pleasure until he found release.

When it was over, they lay side-by-side, Bucky’s head resting on Steve’s outstretched arm. 

“So, when you were spying on me,” Steve began.

“Stalking,” corrected Bucky, turning his head to grin at Steve.

“Right. When you were stalking me, did you think we’d end up here?”

“In your bed? No. Not in a million years,” Bucky grinned. “All I hoped for was a good look at you to make sure you were okay.”

Steve glanced down at his naked body and then back over at Bucky. “Mission accomplished.”

“For now,” Bucky said, raising up on his elbow to smile down at Steve. “But I’m gonna have to keep an eye on you.”

“Mmm,” hummed Steve, tipping his face up for a kiss. “I’m counting on it.”


End file.
